PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgHg0w5DFp4


Not always.

I just finished a tremendous book about Andrew Jackson. Fascinating man with such a wide scope of opinion and views on people, life, spirituality and a host of other issues.

An orphan at fourteen, the revolutionary war took the lives of his brothers and mother. He saw little distinction between family and nation. In his eyes, they melded together into one formation and one loving devotion. He was passionate in his pursuit to defend and preserve both.

He is said by some to have been the president most like you and me. During his presidency, the culture was absorbed in fascination with politics, patriotism and religion. “My Country Tis of Thee” and “Amazing Grace” were products of this era and culture.

“He could be incredibly violent toward Indians and decidedly generous. Still there was nothing redemptive about his Indian policy.” There was conflict that is more than obvious in hindsight of nearly two hundred years. The way the United States acquired much of it’s property is downright scandalous. The wrongs and injustices perpetrated on the Native American can never be undone. Simple apologies from a generation far removed from the original offenses are almost meaningless.

One of the most poignant quotes from this book “Andrew Jackson: American Lion” by Jon Meacham . . .

Not all great presidents were always good, and neither individuals nor nations are without evil.

Andrew Jackson was blinded by the prejudices of his age and owned at least 150 slaves. It’s easy, in the year nearly 2010, to judge.

While I find this all very interesting and love to read the history of the world and particularly of the United States, there are so many undeniable facts that cause me to reflect with some degree of what I can only call shame and recoil that God hasn’t called us into judgment over the public escapades of our past, much more so over the things done in secret “in the best interest of the Nation.”

I won’t go on about the embarrassing episodes in our country’s history. Most of us are painfully aware. We proceed to live with bowed heads, thankful for God’s Grace and Mercy over us as a people – praying for forgiveness as individuals and as a nation for the missteps and intentional offenses we’ve committed. Thankful that none of us gets what we deserve. Justice is for another time. His mercies are new every morning.

So with that said, there are times when I’m proud to be an American. Let’s make this clear though - I find the word “pride” has few applications in the life of one trying to walk in the steps of Christ. And in the light of all the public observations of those we celebrate as “famous” I have to say, I don’t know why we expect people who’ve never been to the Cross to behave as if they have been, when it’s hard enough for those of us who have been there to behave as if we have been there! I’m embarrassed at my own judgmental attitude when I’m aware of my own life and it’s twists, turns and failures.

While I was in the Philippines in September, I was able to visit the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial. We were able to pass slowly through this beautiful memorial to the more than twenty thousand who died in the islands during the second world war. Those who live in the Philippines are thankful for the United States of America and the part our service men and women played in securing their nation.

The cemetery and memorial are beautifully maintained by the United States. It is a quiet, humbling place. A place that honors many whose bodies were never recovered. Their families were simply and respectfully informed of the loss of one they loved.

As I walked this memorial, looking at the names on the wall, watching the landscape pass filled with white crosses marking the life of some young soldier, marine or sailor, I found myself thankful for those that made the decision to stand at the door of these beautiful islands, these sweet people, and hold off the oppressive forces that wanted to overrun and dominate them.

Each marker in this memorial represents a person, a body, a soul. One who was born on that one day to a family that eagerly awaited the arrival. “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl” they said that day. They celebrated birthdays with their friends, that first day of school, they went to ballgames, had dates, made their folks proud when they announced they were going into the service. Moms cried when they got letters from the South Pacific. Moms and Dads worried and prayed over each of these children grown into grownups. Then they let go into the Eternal Hands when there was nothing else they could do.

Yes, we’ve made some monumental mistakes as a nation but we’ve done some wonderful good, too. Just like you and just like me.

Stay Thankful always. Do good.

I welcome your comments, questions and discussions.

Wayne

My friend James

A few days ago, I talked with a dear old friend.

James played guitar and other instruments with me on the road for 10 years. They were some of the best musical days of my career. Every night, he added so much to the evening. People would come up after the concert and ask all kinds of questions about “how did all of that music come from two people?”

James was tender and gentle. Always gracious and kind.

I’ve lost count of how many years ago we stopped traveling and playing together. But it’s been, probably, another ten years. I tried to stay in touch, called every long once in a while to a phone that I thought was his home, but got no answer. I let it go. We’ve both move far, far along.

But the other night, I got a voicemail and it was James. His voice was the same gentle voice I’d known all those years. He said he was sorry that he’d not been more in touch, that he was sorry to hear of the struggles and troubles of my past 5 years, etc.

I called him the next day because in his message, he mentioned that he was facing some “stuff” of his own. Of course, the mind takes over and starts to write an imaginary script of all the worst things you can think of….illness, failed marriage, death of a family member, accidents, whatever.

His wife answered the phone so that was a good sign and, for the moment, eliminated one looming question. She put him on the phone and we talked for 10 or 15 minutes.

After exchanging pleasantries and apologies for not being more in touch, he asked questions that I answered, followed by mutual expressions of our collective appreciation for fresh definitions of old words. Words like grace and mercy. While “God is good” can, sometimes, come off trite and flippant, it certainly didn’t in the course of this conversation with James.

James told me (and I don’t think he’ll mind me telling you . . . he’s asked for prayer from everyone. Please do!) that he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma three or four weeks ago. He thinks the prognosis is good and that there’s a good chance they’ll be able to beat it.

My breathing stopped for a moment.

This isn’t the first phone conversation I’ve had like this. But you’re never prepared and it’s never easy to know how to respond.

And I find, even as I write these words, I have little if anything, profound or exceptionally spiritual to say. I’m just a little deflated and tired of what happens to this body.

I’ve felt bad this whole year. But my stuff is minor compared to this. My stuff is done and fixed and I’m thankful every moment of every single day.

I’m concerned for James and praying for James and his wife. But as in all things, I know and am more convinced than ever that we just don’t know everything that God is up to.

He is a Mystery and will always be. Faith requires that we trust what we cannot see or understand. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be faith at all.

Whatever you’re facing today. Trust God with the unknown and the unknowable. Smile in the face of Mystery and enjoy the fact that so much of all of this is out of our hands – and safely in the Palm of His.

Wayne Watson
October 7, 2009

Walking Over Water

I met a young man as I walked into the village. I asked his name. “My name is Allen” he said. “My first name is Allan,” I told him. It doesn’t take much to have some kind of a bond, does it?

The chapel in this little river village was set deep into the dwellings that were built on poles sticking out of the water. As our conspicuous band of American males started to walk toward the chapel, we were intensely aware that the walkway wasn’t made for our kind.

The first 20 feet took us over boards laid out like a ladder over the water. When I say the water was dirty, well . . . let’s just say, I had the feeling if you fell into it with any kind of open cut, you’d be really sick very quick. The first section had hand rails to hold onto, then it suddenly became two boards side by side with nothing to hold onto. Then one board . . . that bent dramatically under our weight.

At that, we all turned around and went back to the shoreline to visit with some of the children that were mildly entertained by our presence.

Allen sat and talked with me. You can see and hear him in the accompanying video.

He’s been a Christian for a little over a year, speaks pretty good English, and sells jewelry that he makes himself. I asked about his family – he pointed them out and they waved from the open window above. When I asked more about how they lived, etc., he told me he most often slept in the chapel. Again, I’ll remind you that our mental snapshots of churches and chapels have to be redefined. Their chapel was simply a small dwelling among the others over the river. Maybe 8 by 10 feet. I asked why he slept there and he told me he liked to have “devotion” when he first woke up. “They have Bible there” he said.

“Do you have a Bible of your own?” I asked.

“No” he answered.

I told him I would do everything I could to get him a Bible. He had told me that he wanted to be a pastor to help all the people of the world know Jesus.

A few hours later, we visited another church a few miles away from Allen’s village. He walked up to me as we were about to leave – it surprised me to see him again.

“Mr. Allan, where is my Bible?” he asked.

Uhh…..

I ran inside this little church and asked the pastor if there was one copy of the Bible he could spare for me to give to a young man from the river village. He found a single copy and handed it to me.

Right here, let me emphasize that we were there with Bible League International observing their work, evaluating the great need for copies of the Word of God in the local language. So this was not to be taken lightly. I knew I held something precious in my hands.

Bible League International is very focused on their methods of sharing God’s Word and what I was doing was outside the lines of that focus. The pastors and laypeople that work with Bible League share Scripture through a small workbook called The Answer. It takes the reader through the book of John and guides them through the Gospel with questions and answers. After someone completes this study and is placed in a regular study group and church, that’s when they are able to have a complete Bible of their own.

When I gave the Bible to Allen, he looked like I had just handed him a pot of gold. I suspect he knew the value was way beyond mere gold – even as young as he was in his walk with God.

What will this simple, paperback copy of the Holy Scripture do for his world? How many people, young and old, family, friends, strangers will have their lives changed by the discovery of the Truth of Christ, His great love and grace for them all, for US all, simply because Allen has a Bible. He will tell them. He will go where I cannot go.

This is not writing a check to ease my conscience. This is not throwing pocket change at a beggar to gain a few seconds peace at a traffic light. This is time and energy well spent – invested in eternity.

We can’t do everything. But we can all do something.

If you listen, whether you’re in the Philippines or in Houston, God will talk to you. He will whisper. He will tell you which way to turn, when to speak, when to hear, when to watch and when to close your eyes. Obedience will bring joy to Him that made us and could quite possibly change the world.

Listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pZqGylLNrc

Wayne

Church in the Middle

This short video today is taken at the foot of a place called “Smokey Mountain.” It’s well known to all in the area. Thousands of people have made their homes all around it. It’s an old garbage dump site.

As you will see in the video, life goes on. That’s the theme of this country, I think. They live, laugh, buy and sell and go on despite their circumstances. I could learn a thing or two.

There is a little church in the video that is smack in the middle of a little neighborhood. On one side, there is a well known drug dealer and on the other, not 8 feet away, is a brothel.

The church stands.

How powerful is the Truth of Christ. How life changing it is!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3Wba-wC1PY